The Dust That Wouldn’t Leave…

This morning, as I bent down to put on my shoes, I stopped.

My eyes filled with tears.

There, pressed deep into the soles, was the unmistakable red dust of Uganda.

I have walked through airports.

Across parking lots.

Along the sidewalks of America.

Months have passed.

Yet somehow… the dust remained.

I sat there for a long moment, simply staring at it.

Then it dawned on me.

It wasn’t the dust that refused to leave.

It was my heart.

How could I forget the pastors who walked miles just to study God’s Word?

How could I forget the widows who worshiped with joy though they possessed almost nothing?

How could I forget the children whose laughter rose above their hardships, the seminary students preparing to shepherd Christ’s Church, the refugees longing for peace, the mothers praying for their families, or the congregations gathering beneath tin roofs and shade trees because Jesus is worthy of their worship?

No…

Some places God never intends for us to leave completely. Sometimes He allows their dust to cling to our shoes because He intends for their people to cling to our hearts.

Perhaps that is why God told Moses,

“Take your sandals off your feet, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”

Perhaps that’s why Jesus knelt and washed His disciples’ feet.

Perhaps our feet matter because they reveal where our hearts have been.

The Scriptures declare,

“How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” (Romans 10:15)

Beautiful feet are rarely spotless.

They become dusty on roads of obedience.

They become weary in acts of service.

They become scarred by sacrifice.

They bear the evidence that someone chose faithfulness over comfort.

Missionaries often speak about taking the Gospel to a people. What they don’t tell you is this…

If you stay long enough…

If you listen carefully enough…

If you love deeply enough…

Those people begin to minister to you.

Uganda did not simply receive part of my life. God used Uganda to change mine.

I thought I was carrying Christ’s love to East Africa. Instead, I discovered Christ waiting for me there… in the unwavering faith of pastors with empty pockets, in the joyful songs of believers who owned so little, in the prayers of saints whose hope far exceeded their circumstances. They taught me things no classroom ever could.

One day these shoes will wear out.

The tread will disappear.

They will eventually be replaced.

But I pray something never fades:

• May I always carry the dust of every place where Christ has allowed me to serve.

• May I never become so comfortable that I forget the villages.

• May I never become so busy that I stop hearing the cries of those who have never been discipled.

• May I never lose my affection for the people God has entrusted to our care.

This morning, I didn’t cry because my shoes were dirty. I cried because God reminded me where He had left part of my heart.

Are you seeing it? There are some journeys that leave footprints on the earth. But the ones that matter most leave footprints on the heart.